


Better Love

by sharedwithyou



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst and Humor, Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, F/M, Reader-Insert, Trespasser Spoilers, angst angst angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:33:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28432485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharedwithyou/pseuds/sharedwithyou
Summary: TRESPASSER SPOILERS INSIDEMildly Inspired by Better Love by HozierLovely (you) is an elf they rescued from the wild, sadly watching Solas and Lavellan.“I’ll be gone a few days, (y/n). Be good and stay out of trouble.”“Iras?”“A Grey Warden fortress called Adamant.”You raise an eyebrow.“I’ll be careful, don’t worry.”You shouldn’t, because he’s powerful. He wields magic effortlessly as no one else you’ve seen. Although you’ve heard the Inquisitor is no slouch herself. Which would explain his deep admiration of her.Of that, you’re not worried at all. There will be hundreds of women that catch his eye in this lifetime. Not one will be the last.
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas, Fen'Harel | Solas/Reader, Solas (Dragon Age)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12





	Better Love

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: TRESPASSER SPOILERS!!!!
> 
> for my 150th fic how about a Solas angsty fic. Sound good? Great!!
> 
> Lovely (you) only speaks Elvish in this fic.
> 
> The elvish should be understandable through context, but I put translations for most of the words anyway, courtesy of the Dragon Age Wiki. There’s a limited vocabulary at this point so keep that in mind.
> 
> Enjoy! 
> 
> Xoxo Bucky

You bounce a pebble off the wall, humming to yourself.

“Solas! Your friend is being annoying!”

“Why are you telling me?”

“She only speaks Elf. I speak Human.”

“Yes but she understands both.”

“Hey. (Y/n). Stop bouncing that rock. It’s friggin annoying!”

You deign to respond. “Dirthara-ma.”

“(Y/n).” His voice is full of disapproval.

“I don’t even need to speak Elf to understand that she’s cussing me out.” Sera, on the other hand, seems to enjoy it.

“You shouldn’t linger here. A tavern’s no place for a lady.”

You tilt your head to Sera, as if to say “she’s here. She lives here.”

“And I rest my case.” Sera sticks her tongue out at him, and you smile. “Come along then.”

You trot after him obediently, tossing the pebble over your shoulder. That it lands under Sera’s foot as she tries to follow is a convenient coincidence.

“Does he think we’re running an orphanage here? First Cole, now this (y/n). I suppose she’s well-behaved enough.”

“The Inquisition is open to all who want to join.”

“She hasn’t, though. Not really. We should put her to work. There’s no shortage of things to do. Maybe she can dust my furniture.”

“You’re welcome to bring one of the Duke’s servants over to manage your belongings. Stop trying to conscript our own people into being your personal maids.”

“If she’s not doing anything else she might as well.”

“If you’re going to ask Solas to translate chores into Elvish I’d love to watch.”

“Point taken, darling. Still, you should keep an eye on her. Even if she’s not a spy, she’s young and pretty; men are weak, no matter how aloof they seem.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I’ll be gone a few days, (y/n). Be good and stay out of trouble.”

“Iras?”

“A Grey Warden fortress called Adamant.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“I’ll be careful, don’t worry.”

You shouldn’t, because he’s powerful. He wields magic effortlessly as no one else you’ve seen. Although you’ve heard the Inquisitor is no slouch herself. Which would explain his deep admiration of her.

Of that, you’re not worried at all. There will be hundreds of women that catch his eye in this lifetime. Not one will be the last.

“I must get ready.”

You’ve seen the battle plans on the Commander’s desk, heard the creaks and groans of the trebuchet. Despite everything you know, you’re scared.

You grab his wrist as he leaves. He tugs it out of your grasp, but doesn’t turn away. “It will be ok, (y/n).”

You open your mouth and force the words out. “Dareth Shiral.” Safe journey.

“Look at that, the first time you’ve spoken more than one word. I should waltz into danger more often.”

You frown at him, but he smiles still. Softly, accented by the dimple in his chin. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

You watch him walk away, counting the steps. Counting the minutes until he’s back.

The soldiers crowd up, cheering as the Inquisitor and her fearless crew enter Skyhold. Vivienne, with her stunning pointed hat, Dorian and his bronzed shoulder, you run your eyes over them dismissively.

There he is. You strain your eyes to see if there are any new bruises. You should wait until the crowd has dispersed to take a closer look, but you’ve waited for what feels like months for him to return. So now you’re up on the ramparts, the best view you can get while keeping a safe distance from the mob.

Victory. It’s to be expected, considering the magical mark that defies even the veil. From the snatches of overlapping dialogue you hear that she opened her own rift this time. Into the fade and back again, like it was nothing. Except it wasn’t nothing; she’d brought him this time.

He’s not meant to be in the Fade physically! You race down the steps desperately. You need to see him up close, to figure out what damage has been done.

“Watch it!”

You run headfirst into the Commander. You fall flat on your face, hearing a sickening crunch.

“Are you alright?”

You stand up quickly and pinch your nose so it won’t bleed. Without answering, you hightail it to Solas’s room.

“She must be itching for elf sex.” Sera comments cheekily.

“I suppose you would know.” Cullen remarks, giving her a disapproving look before he walks away.

“I’m back, (y/n).” He expects you to be waiting for him in his room. He lights the sconces on the wall, looking for you. Were you hiding again?

“Enasalin?” Victory? You walk in slowly, as if you hadn’t just bum-rushed it all the way over.

“Indeed. Hard-fought, but we won.” He sinks onto his bed, exhaustion setting in. “I’ll tell you all about it after I get some rest.”

You nod and settle down at the foot of his bed, where you’ve arranged a few blankets into a little nest.

“You don’t have to stay here, (y/n). I’m sure there are plenty of cots. It would be more comfortable than sleeping on the ground in my room.”

You shake your head. You love being close to him; you wouldn’t give it up for the softest goose down mattress in the world. Let alone an Inquisition sleeping bag. You point to his pillow. “Hamin.” Rest.

He smiles, that gentle curve of his lips pulling you close without either of you moving.

As soon as he lays down and closes his eyes, sleep takes over.

Then it’s your turn, and you sleep for the first time in days.

“Well don’t you look cozy Solas with your little (y/n) in your arms.”

“This is no laughing matter Vivienne! Where’s the infirmary?”

“Why do you need- Maker, that’s a lot of blood.”

“By the gates, on the right. Ground floor.”

“Thank you, Inquisitor!”

You wake up with a cry of pain.

“Sorry, hon, I need to set the bone.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and try not to whimper.

“I’m right here, (y/n). You’re safe.” You feel a cool set of fingers slip through your own. His touch is so good the pain is almost worth it. You grind your teeth until the healer finishes realigning your nose.

“There we are. Be more careful in the future, hon.”

With a pat on your shoulder, the surgeon moves on to another patient.

You open your eyes but look away from him. “Ir Abelas.” I’m Sorry.

He sighs. “I just fought a nightmare demon while physically in the fade. But that wasn’t nearly as frightening as waking up to you laying in a pool of blood.”

You open your mouth to respond, but it hurts so much you close it again.

“It’s a rare feat to be able to fall asleep while bleeding profusely from a broken nose.”

You can’t help a hiccup of a giggle from forming.

“You must not have slept well while I was gone.”

You shake your head, wincing when the motion makes your eyes water.

“Hamin, lethallan.” He moves and a worried sound pops out of your mouth without your permission.

“Just getting rid of the pins and needles.” He pulls the hair away from your face and looks at you soothingly. The warmth of his gaze seems to transfer to your cheeks. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

You look back at him, looking for the glitter in his eyes, finding only caring. But it’s enough to put you at ease. You feel the call of the Fade, and drift away.

“Is your friend alright?”

“She is much better. Thank you for asking.”

“Of course. She’s important to you; that makes her important to me.”

His face reddens, the color spreading to his pointy ears. “You are too kind.”

“It’s more than altruism, Solas.”

He looks away, biting his lip unconsciously. “Inquisitor, it would be better if we didn’t.”

“Would it?” She places her hands on either side of his face and leans in.

You stir in your sleep, and cut their moment short.

“Come to my room tonight. I’ll be waiting. If you don’t, I won’t pursue it anymore.”

She strides away, and you wake to her receding shadow and his look of pure longing.

“Are you any feeling better, (y/n)?”

You nod. The blinding pain has lessened into a light throbbing.

“I used a spell that takes away some of the ache, but not all. Can’t have you accidentally scratching it or wiggling it.”

Prudent as always. Nevermind that the current level of discomfort makes you want to scratch it more, or that you’d never wiggled your nose once in your entire long existence.

You condense this all into your own look of disapproval.

Low and behold, he laughs.

You’ve grown accustomed to the solemn state of one who carries the fate of an entire civilization on their shoulders.

His laugh brings a glint to his eye, a spark of what you’re looking for. You grab onto it, savor it, internalize it so that the beautiful sound becomes part of you.

“You’ll stop hating me in a few days, (y/n).”

I could never, Solas.

“Sa'vunin.” One more day. In this farce of a role.

“Are you feeling better?” The same words do not sound nearly as empathetic from the Lady Lavellan.

It’s probably some combination of projection and jealousy. Self-awareness doesn’t make it any better.

You make an affirmative noise, ostensibly to keep your face perfectly still and not because you don’t want to waste words on her.

“I’m sure Cullen’s iron abs did a number on your nose.”

You snort involuntarily, and she winks at you. “Don’t tell Solas I said that.”

It comes easy, her disarming charm. Even if you did want to hate her you’d find yourself unable. Indifference is the best you can do. You wish it didn’t come so easy to you.

“It occurs to me that I don’t know much about you. Language barrier aside, you seem to be a woman of few words.”

Most Dalish have lost all but a few words, a shadow of what they should be. Knowing what you do, it is still disappointing. You give her a look as if to say, ‘what’s your point?’

“I have nothing against it; it lends well to your dark and mysterious aura. I’m not talking about your skin, either, so don’t call me racist. It would be odd anyway, all things considered.”

Your lips twitch, despite your determination. You sit up.

“I see you have no vallaslin. Did your clan not use them?”

You tilt your head at her.

“You can just shake your head or nod. No need to change your personality on my account.”

You nod slowly.

“Don’t be intimidated. I’m just an Inquisitor of a massive organization.” It’s another joke, even if it comes across as conceited. She brushes past your lack of acknowledgement.

“Do you have any remaining family? Anyone who needs the Inquisition’s protection?”

You shake your head, surprised by her considerateness.

“Do you know any magic or combat abilities?” You could spin this as gauging your usefulness to the cause, but you’d hardly believe it yourself. You shake your head again.

“Now for the important one.”

You visibly brace yourself, for appearances.

“Are you hungry?”

You laugh, like an echo of the Dread Wolf’s melody. Somehow, she appreciates it. She grins at you, a toothy open-mouthed grin that could sweep even the most dedicated elf off their feet.

You understand now. How opposite is her effortless affection against his steadfast resolve? There’s no compromise for them, it’s all or nothing. Giving in, even with the promise of a blissful ache. Or is it an aching bliss?

Unrequited love is no substitute for love that is doomed.

You’re starving. You have known hunger for so long you’re practically friends. Your only companion ever since your family had been wiped off the map. And yet, amid the hunger, hope blossomed nonetheless. It couldn’t satiate you, perhaps due to its very nature, but it kept you alive.

You nod. She nods back, a silly mimicking motion, and waves a soldier over. “Get this woman fed.”

“Right away, Your Worship.”

The words jostle you; there is no one to worship, no gods new or old. Not even Fen’Harel.

You lie down and turn to your other side, to give your neck and your heart a break.

“Well that’s one way to end a conversation. A bit rude, but effective.”

You say nothing, and she doesn’t press. You have the patience to tire her out, but she gives you no reason to prove it.

“Be well, (y/n).” Not ‘get well soon’. Be well. More than the state of your fragile nose, which for all intents and purposes, cannot be well at this time. Thus, your mind and your soul must circumvent and do so instead. That’s exactly what she means.

Why does she care?

“You’re important to Solas, which makes you important to me.”

You are not a big enough person for this to be true for you. As such, you’re lucky you won’t have to be.

When Corypheus is defeated, as he inevitably will be, their story will end as well.

“Ma serannas.” Thank you for giving us a chance to forgive him for throwing the world into chaos and destruction.

“Now that, I understand.” She leaves, giving the soldier whispered instructions to leave your food by your cot.

You have no appetite, but you’ll force yourself to eat anyway. You can’t be sated, but you can try.

Under the moonlight, she is even more beautiful than he can resist. He stops at the top of the stairs to admire her. He doesn’t want to keep her waiting, but he’s afraid he won’t have another chance to see her like this; full of hope, in it’s ignorance, innocent.

She sighs and he’s frozen; is he too late? Maybe it’s better this way; better to get the hurt over with now than to push the heartache down the line, where it will hurt ever much more.

“Are you going to stand there staring?”

Of course she heard him; her prowess, just another tick on the list of reasons he’s fallen for her.

He approaches, wanting nothing more than to sweep her into his arms, onto the bed, one more way to cement her to him, but he resists. He must leave her wanting in at least one aspect, so he can tell himself that he did the right thing.

“I don’t think (y/n) likes me, much.”

“She’s like that with everyone.”

“Except you.”

“Even with me, a little.”

“Considering you rescued her from a pack of wolves, alone in a forest?”

“Even so.” He’s patient as always, even when he’s close enough to smell her hair. Even when he wonders how their scent will smell, mingled together.

“But I suppose you didn’t come to talk about her.”

“I did not.”

“I have to admit I’m surprised. And very glad.”

“As am I.”

Their eyes, eluvians to which yearning is key. And their crossroads is love.

They kiss, an open defiance against destiny. You want to tell them, telenadas; nothing is inevitable.

But whether it is pre-ordained or a conscious, labored march, their paths must diverge. He will make them diverge.

When he returns to his room, you’re lying in his bed.

“Shouldn’t you be in the infirmary?”

You curl up tighter under his blankets in response.

“Indeed, it’s quite cold tonight.” 

He sits next to you, deciding to stay up reading so you can get some sleep unhindered by the hard floor.

You’ll have none of that. You pat the pillow to let him know you want him to rest too.

“I’m not sure of your customs, (y/n), but it wouldn’t be right for me. Even if you are like my little sister.”

You frown deeply, and he doesn’t know if it’s his reasoning you take offense to or the notion that you’re his sibling. 

Both, really. If he truly saw you as a sibling, there should be no hesitation. No one would know but the two of you, and you clearly had no qualms. Beyond that, you really didn’t see him as a brother. And you really, really did not want him to see you as his sister.

You pat the pillow insistently to gauge his reaction. 

He wants to join you. Because he has every right to as your brother, and oxymoronically because he isn’t and craves the warmth you can offer.

The fact that he knows you can, despite your withdrawn display, is more than enough.

You pull the blanket up and over his knees. Still, he hesitates to get under.

“Ma melava havani, Solas.” Let me help you this time.

“Ma nuvenin, (y/n). As you wish.” He slides down so he’s next to you, still keeping a moderately respectful distance.

You smile wistfully, feeling almost heavenly that you’re so close to him after so long. Seeing this, his eyes brighten and he pulls you close to him, absorbing the heat that’s radiating out of you.

You sigh in pleasure and wriggle against him, feeling him harden quickly from your movements. 

“(Y/n).” His tone is warning, though whether it’s for him or you, you can’t say. You grind against him slowly, enjoying his sharp intake of breath.

“Not tonight.” You turn to look at him in confusion. After the whole balcony thing, wasn’t he in desperate need of release?

“Not while I’m thinking of her, lethallan.” It’s your turn to gasp, and not just because his arm has found its way around your waist, holding you in a way that makes you feel so safe. Even with an ache inside him, he is so whole.

You let out a pitiful whine and you feel that melodious laughter at the base of your skull, filling the little cracks in your psyche. The hunger is abated, momentarily.

“Rest now, (y/n).”

Before you can complain, he waves his hand, casting you into a deep sleep.

By the time the spell wears off, the sun is fighting with the curtains. You draw them open so you can shake away the last of your drowsiness. It’s no surprise that you’re alone; as much as Solas liked being in the Fade, he was an early riser. Not to mention he had someone new to keep him company.

It’s an unworthy thought; as far as he knows you’re an even newer friend than she. You have no reason to reveal the truth; you fear it will bring only remorse. Remind him of what he’d destroyed, inform him of what he missed in his slumber.

Things were easier as a stray rescued by chance. He’d only met you briefly before, and there were millions of other faces surrounding him, faces that weren’t covered by a mask. The truth of vallaslin had shamed you, and you were unable to face anyone until after that day.

He’d taken the brand of slavery and given you freedom. Freedom that eventually crumbled the sky and clipped your wings.

You should be angry. But you’d gotten tired of anger. In the end, you believed that one day he’d make up for what he’d done. You’d never doubted him.

But you’re starting to get tired of waiting.

“Morning, (y/n).”

You smile politely at the gregarious dwarf.

“Still giving me the silent treatment, huh?”

You wink, and he chuckles. “How do you say good morning in Elvish?”

“Fenedhis lasa.”

“Ma harel, (y/n).” Your eyes widen and he chuckles louder. “That’s right, you lied. I know a little Elvish myself.

“Of course you’d know the curses.” Solas walks up and gives both of you a disapproving look. It softens when he sees your unabashed grin.

“Let her live a little, geez.” Sera is quick to offer input, as she walks by.

“Of course she’s crass, she grew up in the wild.” To be fair, everyone lived in trees.

“Just because she grew up away from civilization doesn’t mean she should be uncivilized.” Vivienne attempts to point out.

“I think by definition you are incorrect Madame de Fer.”

“Whatever, darling, just keep your pet on a leash.”

His brows knit together and his jaw is set. It’s reassuring that he takes offense. “She is a person just as much as any of you. Just because we found her alone and she doesn’t speak your language does not make her any less. Not. One. Bit.”

Vivienne sniffs haughtily and walks away, unnerved by his tone but unwilling to admit it.

Varric pats you on the shoulder. “We’re not all like that.”

You nod. You know. People are fickle, but they are still worth saving.

“Na abelas.” You’ll Be Sorry. Righteous fury comes easy to the Wolf.

You put your hand on his elbow. “Atish’an, Solas.” Peace; there is much to do and the road is long. You mustn’t tire yourself before you’re halfway there.

He puts his hand on yours. It surprises them, a sign of affection from someone they see as aloof. If they only knew, Fen’Harel was the epitome of passion. A mere look from him could turn a man into stone.

“Don’t let it get to you.” Solas’s voice had raised enough to draw the Inquisitor from some visiting dignitaries. “Vivienne is...complicated.”

“She’s a bitch.” Sera says succinctly. She gives you a sympathetic smile, which you return with a small grin. “Don’t worry, we’re all misfits here. I’ll help you get her back sometime.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Solas is not a fan of pranks, no matter who the target is.

“Dirthara-ma!” Sera quips and you can’t contain a loud giggle.

He sighs in exasperation, but his anger is less and that’s what matters.

“Who knew? Learning Elf can be fun!” She walks away whistling, and you can’t help but appreciate her sass.

“So what’s on the agenda today?” It’s about time they put you to work, at least the Lady Lavellan is nice about it.

“Nothing too physically strenuous, she's still healing.” His hand is still on yours, and he wraps it a little tighter instinctively. His protectiveness is intoxicating, and you want more.

“Why don’t you go see the surgeon if she needs any help with something simple. Maybe healing mixtures or cutting bandages. If nothing else you can tell her ‘Ma serannas.’”

You look up at Solas to see what he thinks. He nods and nudges you towards the door. “That’s a good idea, Inquisitor.”

You trot obediently to the infirmary.

It occurs to you that you’re not sure how to ask what the surgeon needs help with. You hover by the door awkwardly. Luckily, she doesn’t need you to ask.

“If you’re here to help, grab those scalpels and rinse them in the hot water. Use these tongs to hold them over the fire until they’re dry. It will sterilize them.”

The days where you can conjure a flame in your palm are gone. You can still hold your hand in the fire at least, but the memory of the former makes the latter seem insignificant. You use the tongs and slowly work your way through the tools. Just when you finish, another set of bloody knives appears.

“Sorry hon, lots of wounded today. You’re at a good pace, keep it up.”

You hold in a sigh, thinking of how easy this would have been years ago. A controlled flame with just a touch of your fingers, holding each tool for just a few seconds and they’d be ready to go. 

You dutifully rinse and dry the knives the useless way.

“Pour this out and get a fresh bucket of water, hon.”

You take the disgusting liquid and look for a good place to pour it out.

“Watch it!”

For the second time, you run into the Commander. At least you had a buffer between you this time.

He looks down at the bucket and wrinkles his nose. His eyes travel up your arms to your face, past your swollen nose to your pointed ears. He grumbles beneath his breath. 

“Servants these days.”

You ponder pouring the dirty water onto his feet. And throwing the bucket at his head.

“She is not a servant.” Each word is piercing, with an absolutely venomous tone.

Cullen looks surprised as Solas storms over and puts his arm around your shoulders protectively. Almost possessively. You feel slightly dizzy from the sudden elation.

“Put that down (y/n).” Delighted at the intensity of his protectiveness, you set the bucket down gently instead of spilling it onto the Commander’s legs.

Cullen recognizes your name, realizing his error. “It’s (y/n) is it? Sorry about the misunderstanding.”

“Don’t you address her.” Solas looks pointedly at your nose, in between glares at the Commander. “You’ve done enough.” He leads you away, keeping his arm around you the entire time.

“What about this bucket?!” Cullen calls after you in annoyance.

“Have one of the soldiers take care of it. They’re your men aren’t they?”

He herds you along until you’re back in his room. You sink into the bed as he paces back and forth erratically.

“We weren’t meant for this, (y/n). Alienages, servitude, subjugation, it wasn’t supposed to be like this.”  
He looks at you beseechingly, and you want to hold him, to comfort him. 

What right do you have to do so?

“It’s...my fault.” He sits down heavily, taking a tortured breath. “I will fix this, I promise. Elves will never bow their heads again.”

You’ve believed in him all this time. No, it’s more, you’ve known. He will save you all again.

“Revas,” you whisper. Freedom.

“Yes.” You never thought the Dread Wolf would take a second look at you, let alone look at you like this. Grateful. Somehow, those ethereal blue eyes see what you’re unable to express; that you understand.

“I’m so sorry.” He pulls you close, his voice laden with guilt. “I’ve made you wait.”

You smile and pull on the ties of his trousers. You can always make up for lost time.

“Not this.” He pushes your hand away, but keeps you in his arms.

You look at him inquisitively.

“I’ve kept you waiting. While I was asleep, while the sky was torn open, and now while we prepare for Corypheus.”

You pull away so you can take a good look at him. Hairless crown, Cupid’s bow, dimpled chin. The most beautiful of all, his vulnerability. It’s so stunning you have to look away, like his perfect eyes are shining brighter than the sun.

He puts his hand on your chin and turns you back to face him.

“I’ve known all this time, (y/n). The only time I’ve ever removed a vallaslin without being able to see what it looked like. I’m pleased to see that I succeeded.”

The question is written all over your face, like the tattoo had been.

“The mask didn’t just cover your face. It also brought out your eyes. I could never forget those hopeful, understanding eyes.”

You look down at your feet, amazed at his perception and ashamed at your deception.

“You weren’t wrong to hide it from me. In fact you have every right to hate me. I gave you your freedom and then I put up the veil and destroyed it. You should despise me.” It’s his turn to look away. He wants you to judge him, but he can’t bear to see it.

One word. That’s all you need to say. And it’s everything. 

“Mala.”

He freezes at the word, frightened by the totality of it.

“Yours. I am yours.”

He growls and claims your lips with his, biting down hard enough to draw blood so that people will see his mark and know. You serve no Old Gods, you have no vallaslin of Worship. The traces of the Dread Wolf’s fangs, you will wear with pride.

He nibbles and licks at your swollen lip softly, wanting to soothe the pain his need caused. 

“Ir abelas, lethallan.”

You press your forehead against his and sigh, pleasure and pain intertwined. “Tel'abelas.” I'm not sorry.

He lets out a silent howl that strains his throat, his nature clawing at the world that he’s not strong enough to change yet. Just as he isn’t strong enough to resist you.

Then he pushes you onto the bed and climbs on top of you.

“All this time… have you been thinking about this?”

“Theneras.” Even in your dreams.

He shudders and spreads your thighs, holding back as best he can in case you change your mind.

“Mala. Make me yours, Dread Wolf.”

“Ma nuvenin.” And he does what you ask.

It’s not what he has with the Inquisitor, but it is all your own.

You don’t ask him yet, because you don’t want his answer. You want him to tell you without prompting, on his own.

It’s been so long, but you can wait a little longer. 

Ar lath ma, Fen’Harel.

There’s no better love than this.

**Author's Note:**

> OHOHOHO
> 
> Tel’abelas. I’m not sorry for hurting you guys. Thanks for reading, lovelies!
> 
> Quick poll 1: which line hit you in the gut?!
> 
> Mala- technically it’s translated as your and not yours, but I think it works.
> 
> The only way I can do SolasxReader rn and put even a hint of happiness without bawling is if I write you as an Original female character and not Lavellan. When it’s Lavellan it’s a crapload of angst and we need to punish him.  
> As an ancient elf waiting patiently for him to wake up and tear down the veil so her old powers/self can be restored, he’s more forgivable. Ish. 
> 
> I have complicated feelings about him.
> 
> Leave a comment if you liked! Happy 150th fic to me!
> 
> Xoxo Bucky


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